


Blue on Blue

by FrancescaMonterone



Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: Conflict of Interests, F/M, Friendship/Love, Love Triangle, M/M, Maybe I simply enjoy making Ryan suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaMonterone/pseuds/FrancescaMonterone
Summary: What have we become? When did we turn into this?Episode 3.0. Could also be entitled "Ryan quietly going insane"





	Blue on Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I have a confession: this story feels sort of unfinished to me. But it's been lounging in my fanfic folder far too long, looking at me expectantly, and since I don't have any great ideas on how to expand and continue it at present, I decided to just post it as it is. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.

 

His tie was slowly and steadily choking him and Ryan wondered if there was something in the air down here that turned perfectly harmless items of clothing into ruthless, silent killers. He wouldn't have put it past Percy... or Amanda.

Where was Nikita? Why hadn't she returned yet? Why wasn't she answering his calls?

He wasn't worried about her, God forbid, because _that_ would have been ridiculous - she was Nikita, after all - but he needed her right now, and badly. Um. That sounded wrong even in his own mind. He was _this_ close to running his hands through his hair in frustration.

What was he doing here? He was so out of his depth.

"Problem?" Michael's deep voice rumbled behind him. Ryan could literally feel it, like a touch of skin on bare skin. It sent a very unwelcome shiver down his spine. _Not your enemy_ , he reminded himself. And why the hell was he so jumpy?

"Intel is six hours cold and I can't raise Nikita," he explained, turning to glance at Michael. "Think you can track her down?"

Uh. Bad choice. Michael looked up at him, raising his eyes in that slow, deliberate way of his. "I'll see what I can do." There was a measure of condescendence in his tone, and a brief hint of amusement in his expression as he turned. Ryan sighed deeply.

Well. At least Michael was enjoying himself here. Good for him.

He did find Nikita, though, not that Ryan was surprised, and for a moment it looked as if things were about to get back on track, the normal, clear-cut operations track, that is, but then he was alone in a room with them. Well, almost alone, but Birkhoff didn't really count, offering no help or support as he leaned across the table. Maybe Ryan's paranoia was getting the better of him, but it sure seemed as if their resident genius was enjoying the show. All he needed was a jumbo size bag of popcorn to complete the image.

"... I can always check with Langley," he offered.

"By check he means hack," Michael translated unnecessarily, sounding amused.

Ryan put his foot down. Firmly. "No hacking the CIA."

Nikita, also leaning on the table, smiled up at him, then exchanged glances with Michael. Great. Nobody around here was taking him serious.

... and why was Michael looking at him like that again?

Stupid question really. Ryan knew exactly why. Also? The fact that he wasn't wearing a tie intent on strangling him was somehow unfair, particularly given the fact that the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, offering a tantalizing view of his bared neck.

There should be laws against this. It was positively _indecent_.

Nikita was still smiling, or again? "Whatever you say... _boss._ " The word seared through him, a red hot spark, and he could feel the blush creep up his cheeks.

Ryan looked from one to the other, their beautiful faces wearing damn near identical expressions of feigned innocence. It was an inside joke, and the fact that he was for once in on it did not make him feel any less uncomfortable. Oh hell, this was awkward.

Should have known better, Ryan. Yeah. Never fuck the company, especially not when the company comes in deadly twos.

And curse his luck, _of course_ it all went sideways in Hong Kong. His first mission as the head of the new Division, and he was stuck at the bunker, watching helplessly as things spiraled out of control fast, all the while imagining guns trained on Nikita's slender silhouette and Michael in handcuffs, both images that did nothing to lower his heart rate.

"I don't give a damn about the President, Ryan, I care about Michael," she told him, and this was just too damn difficult and tangled, because they were on the same page when it came to that, but he couldn't tell her, couldn't let his guard down, not in front of all of those people who looked to him to be their strong leader, not swayed by personal considerations. To Nikita, it likely smacked of betrayal.

Fighting it out in front of everyone, though... not a good choice. And it clawed a piece out of him to fight her on an issue so dear and personal to both of them, but he would not, could not relent. Those were not the terms of their agreement.

_No interference._

Birkhoff called him out on it, of course he did. " _That_ was not cool."

Another deep sigh. "Which part of it?" As if Ryan himself hadn't been perfectly aware of the wrongness of it all. _I'm in the process of wrecking my own heart here, Birkhoff, so don't you go all righteous on me._

"The world was watching," Birkhoff pointed out unnecessarily.

"Right." Ryan's tone was clipped. He had no desire to discuss his management style with Birkhoff, or the half-made bed in his office, or any of the other, heavier stuff that hung in the air. None whatsoever.

And telling him to chill? So not helpful.

"The world's still gonna be here tomorrow." Pause. "Unless there's something you're not telling me?"

_Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Aside the fact that all of your lives are forfeit if I fail. Even theirs._

_Nikita's... and Michael's._

He laughed, brief and humorless. Self-depreciatively. "Nothing you don't already know."

Birkhoff nodded, and for a moment, Ryan thought he caught a flicker of _something_ in his eyes.

Maybe pity.

The fact that they did get Michael out unscathed was a relief, but it felt like a hollow victory when his mission debrief with Nikita turned into yet another argument. He watched her turn and walk away, the red dress hugging her curves lovingly and he could see Michael's hands on her shoulders, large and slightly calloused, slipping it off.

_What have we become? When did we turn into this?_

But he knew the answer, of course.

_When? When you ask?_

_When you got too greedy, and asked for too much. Victory. Peace. Love. A part in something greater than you could ever have imagined, but you yourself were too small for it._

**Author's Note:**

> "Blue on Blue"may sound like a nice color scheme for your bedroom, but it actually refers to an attack in which soldiers, police, or other members of security forces, are injured or killed by their own or by allies.   
> The fact that I'm using this phrase as part of my everyday vocabulary now likely means that I've spent way too much time hanging out with people fighting a war everybody would like to forget about, and reading reports of people killing each other in various creative ways.  
> Real violence never looks as attractive as it does in "Nikita", but I've enjoyed the show nevertheless. The message that there really aren't any good guys anymore, once you start killing people (or having them killed), may be a bit depressing, but it rings true.


End file.
